


Shifting Visions

by AshesofTwilight



Category: The Messenger (Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings at the Beginning of Each Chapter, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, SPOILERS ABOUND, headcanon heavy, just a collection of drabbles, none of this is canon unless proven otherwise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-07-26 02:51:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20036695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshesofTwilight/pseuds/AshesofTwilight
Summary: The mists of time are shifting. A vision appears...A collection of short writings related to The Messenger. Tags will be updated over time. Contains spoilers for the events of the main game and DLC. Also contains writings related to the Sabotage-universe ARG.Note: Some of these pieces were written before a Tidal Wave of Lore. Every chapter will have specific warnings and a note on if it was written before or after this lore dump.





	1. Frozen Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The latest defeat comes close to shattering the efforts of the Blue Robes, and their hope with it.
> 
> This is set directly after the 'raid' mentioned in-game, before Ninja reaches the top of Glacial Peak.  
Beta-read by the lovely starryeyedninja.  
Written before the Tidal Wave of Lore.

The Tower vanished behind them, leaving no barriers between the Blue Robes and the freezing air on the mountain’s peak. The whistling of the wind and the occasional yowl of a demon far below was all that could be heard for several moments. Snow quickly began to dust their robes, some of it flying through the illusions of their masks and into their faces. The raid that had forced them out of the Void was inevitable, but nothing prepared them for it.

“Three of us. That’s all that’s left…” 

The Prophet and the Artificer snapped their attention to the Shopkeeper. They were staring blankly at where the Tower had stood moments before. The defeat in their voice was nothing new. Hints of it had always been there when they spoke of the war across time. The despair was new. It was worrisome. The pause afterwards quickly became uncomfortable.

“I… I’m sure we’ll be alright. Others may have escaped in other ways, and the next Messenger should be on their way,” the Prophet tried to comfort the other two. He sounded more like he was trying to comfort himself.

“Really? I know the prophecy, I know it says ‘Three members will test the worthy Messenger,’ or something like that, but...” The Shopkeeper shook their head and crossed their arms. They tried to suppress a shiver. “... I don’t know if we can survive this…” they added, just barely loud enough to be heard over the wind.

The wind picked up, forcing the Prophet to hunch over to avoid being knocked down. He silently cursed his height, focusing on the bite of the cold in a desperate bid to calm his frantic thoughts. He looked at the Shopkeeper, knowing the swirling doubts they were having. They had not moved. He wondered, fleetingly, if they would want to. He knew they were rapidly reaching a breaking point.

“We may not, but we have to try to survive. At least until the scroll is near us again.” There was no response from the other two. 

The Artificer glanced around the icy peak while the humans spoke, scanning for any possible demons nearby. He kept his feelings to himself, though they were a tumultuous mess. He knew that the two humans were having a hard time, and he was sure they could all pull through together. But everything felt a bit dull. Even thinking of doing the thing did not have the same glee about it. He supposed that the grief was going to be there for a long time. At the very least, he had to try to support the other two. 

“I think we can win!! There’s always going to be more Messengers, and that means more Blue Robes! We’ll be fine, Shoppy! But we do need to find somewhere warm,” a pause as a thought popped up on his priorities. “Maybe we can honor the fallen Blue Ro– Shoppy?” The Artificer reached out to the taller mage. They were shaking, though the little robot could not tell if it was from the cold or from grief. He hoped that it was more of the former, for now.

The Prophet sighed, then shuddered when an icy gust cut through his robes. His nose was already starting to run, and his toes ached from the chill of the snow around his feet. He prayed that the prophecy he had received centuries ago was true. Otherwise, the Order, and the entire world, was doomed.

_ ‘Godspeed, Messenger.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the start of my first AO3 work, and likely not the last collection of short writings. Please feel free to leave a comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts and ideas!  
The Messenger is an indie video game by Sabotage Studios!! It's a lovely game with a lovely community, please go watch or play it!! It also has an extensive ARG on the official Discord server, which is partially responsible for this fic being born.


	2. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another discussion of the same old plans, another summary of the same old problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short drabble/dialogue exploration based on my ideas of how the Archivist and the Shopkeeper would interact. I have a lot of thoughts about these two characters...  
The Archivist is an ARG-only character (so far), but his role in things has incredible reach. He's a bit of a spoiler character, in a way.  
Written before the Tidal Wave of Lore.

“And what of this timeline?”

The Archivist paused, cocking his head at the Blue Robe.

“We’ve discussed this, Shopkeeper. Your friends will not be affected, so long as they join the effort.” He did not miss the slight narrowing of the ‘eyes’ of the taller mage’s mask. “This war is going to take far longer tha-”

“And if you succeed?” They interrupted, tone sharp.

“...”

“All of us, thrown away for nothing…” They scoffed and paused. The Archivist could sense their anger, but they seemed too tired to argue over the subject again. “Go ahead and gather what you need. There’s not many left now, so come to the Prophet or me for any more advice. The Artificer may have made a breakthrough as well.”

“And the Iron Hood?”

The Shopkeeper shook their head. “I don’t believe he’ll be coming out any time soon.” A pause. “I don’t blame him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, it's been a while since I last updated this. My writing muse seems to come and go for this particular fandom, smh. Hopefully I can keep on track and write more over the next few months, barring life getting in the way again!


	3. Oh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuji finds himself in a final frontier, led by a demon's false crown and a foreboding feeling. He was right to be wary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuji is my headcanon name for Ninja. Warning, this is a bit gross, but that fits the Corrupted Future. I love this stage, it's incredibly eerie and horrifying. No Abomination here, just a little bit of exploration of Yuji/Ninja's reaction to this place.  
Warning: Blood mention, emetophobia (mention)  
Note: Written before the Tidal Wave of Lore (though it doesn't have much bearing here)

Yuji steps out of the portal and nearly chokes on the stench that greets him. It smells like rotten flesh and old blood. He can almost taste the iron on his tongue. The lighting in the area is dim and ambient; from what, he cannot tell. The ground is oddly spongey, and he can feel something guttural, too deep for him to hear. It is beyond unsettling. He nearly launches a shuriken on instinct when he turns and sees_ eyes_, yellow and red with bizarre pupils, staring at him. They track his hands. He hates it.

The firefly comes out, questioning this ruined, demonic land as much as he is. He is too perturbed to speak but shakes his head. He has a job to do, regardless of where he is going. A moment’s meditation to clear his mind, and he feels he is ready to move forward. He nods at the firefly, assuring her that he is prepared.

Then he looks up.

The sky is a hellish purple, and the moon is close, _too _close. The surface is shattered, pockmarked like it had been crushed and kicked around. Pieces of it float around the ruined core of the satellite. Streaks of light pop up in the sky, presumably from _the moon falling to the Earth._ Horror strikes him to the core when he realizes that he is on a disgusting, fleshy peninsula of some form. The sea is a roiling, oozing purple mass, toxic and deadly. Tentacles writhe above it. He thinks he sees bodies, human bodies, being tossed about like playthings. No wonder the area stinks. He thinks he is on the remnants of his island: a horrible worst-case scenario of if he fails.

“Wh-what…” He chooses to not voice his question aloud. This is a nightmare, something that he cannot let happen. He forces down his panic, and whatever bile in his stomach that tries to come up, tries to center himself on the mission at hand.

He pulls down his mask and loses his lunch a few minutes later when a firefly opens a way to the past. Time magic, _the Void_, floods in to greet him. 

This is the future if he fails, he realizes. The world is on his shoulders now.

The weight of the realization nearly crushes him. 

He forces himself to fix his mask and get up after a minute. He refuses to go down easily, even if terror grips his heart in a vice. A few deep breaths of the Void’s clean air helps focus his tumultuous thoughts and shaking hands, and he moves forward again. He has a feeling that a Note is waiting at the end of this hell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOO, I'm on a roll with these!  
Please feel free to leave kudos and/or comments!! I'd love to hear your thoughts.


End file.
